


you’re so beautiful (i’d rather drink you up)

by medievaltide



Category: One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Banter, Cop! Harry, Cop! Louis, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, OT5 Friendship, Police AU, bottom! Louis, top! Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 15:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19176118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medievaltide/pseuds/medievaltide
Summary: Louis has so many issues to attend to, his life going downhill being on top of the list—while the second, he’s certain, shouldn’t be involving Harry Styles.





	you’re so beautiful (i’d rather drink you up)

**Author's Note:**

> JUST A DISCLAIMER. I do not know nor do I have any single idea how UK police works, so I apologize in advance for all the inaccuracies written in this fic.
> 
> No other warnings aside from my shitty grammar and my failure to comply smut. I’m not really an expert in writing so those scenes wouldn’t be that detailed.
> 
> I had fun writing this and hopefully we’ll finish up up to five chapters! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Louis hates that sound. It’s horrid. Infuriating.

It makes him want to obliterate human race. 

He almost feels like his frown is going to stick up on his face forever as his eyebrows scrunch lower and lower until he’s had enough. He tries to ignore the vibration under his pillow and that annoying generic alarm tone that ruins his day every-fucking-day.

He pulls the duvet over his head, squinting as the sunlight came through the cracks of the blinds and hitting his face through the fabric—adding up into his stack of frustration in this early morning.

He doesn’t want to get up, is the thing. He wants to continue feeling the soft touch of the mattress against his skin and savor it as long as he could. He  _really_ doesn’t want to leave his bed.

But the buzz under his fucking pillow is too fucking much to endure.

Louis groans dramatically, sitting up and aimlessly throwing the pillow across the room. He hears a light thud along with a sound of broken glass hitting his floor—but Louis doesn’t give it a thought as he picks up his phone and silently glares at his screen, mouthing a string of curses as his thumb violently taps against the tiny red button before throwing it back to the edge of the bed.

It’s only Eleven thirty in the morning, and Louis is definitely not in the mood to deal with an angry co-worker, especially not with a throbbing head ache thank you very much. 

He groans, again, massaging his temples with the tips of his index which—doesn’t even help ease it the slightest. Someone should really remind him not to drink this much during weeknights.

He sits there for a few minutes, staring at the wall across him—counting every dirt that stains its pure white color just to pass time and even maybe to have an excuse why he isn’t leaving his bed yet. 

He really needs to get his shit together.

Louis sighs for the first time that morning (he can’t wait for the next few times, yay), collapsing back first against the bed and proceeding to stare at his ceiling, ignoring the pain from the contact of his head hitting the mattress that made it throb even more.

 

He’s still got a lot of time to just lay down here and think about life. Probably. Just to pass time.

Except he has a job. 

Fuck life. 

He squeezes his eyes closed, his head slowly dulling from his hangover as his fringe started to stick on his forehead with sweat. 

Louis grumbles, resting his forearm over his eyes.

Not only is his life going downhill. He also feels gross, disgusting and stinky from last night’s endeavors. He tries to ignore the sticky feeling of whatever drying fluid was over the skin of his abdomen. Whatever the hell it is.

He’ll go back to sleep instead. Yes. Better idea. If not, the best.

Louis proceeds to close his eyes—pushing every worry, or any thoughts at the back of his head and let the peaceful humming of the air conditioner lull him back to sleep.

Then, the nightmare started before he could even doze off.

“Fuck’s sake.” A quiet hiss comes from the threshold of his room.

He blinks, hearing the scrunching of broken glass against his wooden floor, the clicking of boots nearing his direction. “Are you serious?!”

Louis tilts his head and peers towards the doorway—not even surprised to see who was there. He rolls his eyes, pulling the duvet over his shoulders. Zayn was right, he really needs to hide his spare key somewhere less obvious. (“Who the fuck still hides their spare key under a fucking placemat?”)

“Good Morning, Harold.” he greets with a mocking smile, his voice is still sounding a little strained.  _There goes the hope of getting a nice few hours of sleep._

Harry doesn’t return the pleasantrie _s. “_ You’re supposed to be ready since,”he looks down at his watch, “Fifty-two minutes ago.”

Louis hums, turning to his side—his back against Harry. “A new record, then.”

“Our agreement was eleven.” Is all he says, “It’s eleven-fifty two.”

Louis smirks. He could feel Harry’s glare on him, burning at the back of his head but he refuses to look back—nuzzling his cheek deeper against his pillow instead. Harry should get him some aspirin.

“You weren’t answering my calls.”

“No.” Louis hums, “I was ignoring them,”

There’s silence after that. And Louis prays and  _hopes_ that Harry had already fucked off.

He’s not faithful enough.

“Get up,” Harry murmurs, voice deep as he walked around the bed, stopping right in front of Louis. “Louis,” He hisses.

“What?” Louis moans, patience already wearing thin. Why won’t Harry ever hop off his dick, he’ll never know.

He lazily peeks through his lids and looks up at Harry as he’s hovering at him.

“Get up,” Harry repeats.

Louis almost doesn’t notice the way his jaw clenches, nostrils flaring and eyebrows hunching down in a way that only Louis can make him do. He’s proper pissed, he can tell.

“Ten minutes.” Harry says, Louis could’ve sworn his nostrils got bigger than it already was. “You have Ten fucking minutes to get yourself ready. I’m waiting downstairs.”

Louis doesn’t have that much time to protest because Harry is already stomping his way out of his room.

And right. Not that he doesn’t like to listen to whatever Harry always tells him to do—he’s rational sometimes (maybe all the time but Louis will not admit that) but Louis will never let him get any kind of satisfaction from him.

So he stays in the shower for approximately  45 minutes.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s anything but a twat. A complete insufferable twat and Louis sometimes wishes he was partnered up with an old man with a big drunk belly instead _—instead of this._ He never liked Harry. 

And there are so many reasons, too many that he could no longer make a long list mentally or physically.

Thing is, Harry always loved to act like he’s  _better_ than anyone else—most especially to Louis. He would tell him not to do this or not to do that, He would watch out for him whenever they go out on bars or clubs or pubs as if Louis couldn’t take care of himself. He’d tell him not to ‘drink too much’ before Louis scurries off and disappears through the crowd. He acts as if he’s his parent, like he knows what’s good for Louis better than Louis himself.

And sure, Louis appreciates these gestures. He never had someone to take care of him ever since he left home. But like. Yeah. Still not a reason for him to control his life.

Louis just never likes it when somebody tries to tell him off for his own actions. He’s twenty-five years old and he’s pretty sure he knows what exactly he wants and doesn’t want to do, thank you very much.

He sighs for the umpteenth time that day; and it’s only five minutes to one.

“There literally is no reason for you to drive this slow,” He says, eyes boring against his own reflection in the side mirror.

There isn’t really any cars in front of them—heck, there aren’t even  _anything_ around them. Their town is small, and nobody ever drives or go out of their houses in the early morning.

He knows Harry drives like this, he said it a bunch of time and Louis quotes, _it’s better to be safe than regret later._ Louis would call it his grandpa mechanism.

He turns his head towards the driver’s seat, gaze landing at Harry’s tight grip on the steering wheel, “Get out if all you’ll do is complain.”

Which—rude.

“You’ve been a proper twat all morning, is there something up your ass?” Louis huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nothing.” Harry hisses, letting go of one hand to push his sunglasses up his nose.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” Harry mutters under his breath. He sounds annoyed.

“Uhm-hm,” Louis nods slowly, lips puckered mockingly. “Sure, you’re not lying.”

Harry growls. “I said I’m not.”

“Yes, you—“

Before Louis could finish his sentence, the car has suddenly swerved at the side of the road in a fast speed, the sound of tires squeaking against the asphalt road made them both grit their teeth—Harry, maybe for a different reason.

“What the fuck?” Louis blinks at him. “Are you mental?” he asks, eyes wide and heart hammering against his rib cage.

So maybe Louis prefers it when Harry drives slow.

Harry breathes in deeply. “Please shut the fuck up,”

It takes a whole lot of thinking—but Louis shrugs anyway, muttering a tiny “At least try to be polite,” under his breath before turning away.

The engine restarts in a few seconds, silence engulfing the both of them in a peaceful yet uncomfortable manner. Harry continues to drive through the empty road, but Louis’ mind is always nothing but a mess especially if it’s this quiet. Plus, he simply just wants to be annoying.

So he asks: “Is it because of what I did last night or the other night?”

Aside from the fact that Louis almost flew through the windshield, Harry never tried responding.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s almost ten in the evening when Louis realizes he hasn’t eaten dinner yet. Horrific, really, when his stomach decides to grumble in protest as he writes what was left of his report. He yawns unabashedly, stretching his limbs against the chair and accidentally knocking the pen off the table in the process. He doesn’t bat an eye, just proceeds to glance at the clock hanging across the room. 

His eyes shift back to the paper works, rereading his sentences over and over again—his handwriting is already starting to get messy, and there’s a smudge of black ink in the corner of the page. Maybe he can continue this tomorrow when he gets back.

He sighs, pushing back his chair and getting up. He puts the documents back into the drawers and grabs his keys, pushing it closed with his hips before he saunters out of the office lazily, not bothering to double check in case he left anything important on his table. He could always pick it back up in the morning.

He pads through the long hallway, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors. The lights are still all on, but the whole station is silent except for the loud musings coming from the room in the furthest right. He enters and immediately spots Niall talking loudly over the phone and Zayn scrolling through his own at the table. He suspects Liam is in the front desk tonight.

“Y’alright?” he asks as soon as Niall drops the call and throws his phone towards the table, a frown etched on his lips.

Louis flops down next to Zayn, the latter glancing his way to acknowledge his presence.

Zayn’s always too quiet sometimes, not that it’s news. He tries, at least.

“It’s grandma,” Niall huffs, crinkling his nose in an attempt to push his glasses back up. “She’s asking me to fix her washing machine. I told her I can’t and that I have the midnight shift today, then she proceeded to cry—he breathes, throwing his hands up comically—She cried! Fuck’s sake. Last night she called me panicking, I thought she was going to have a heart attack or something, drove my way to her house only to ask me to replace her fucking lightbulb.” he grits his teeth.

Louis doesn't laugh. At least—tries not to, “Must be hard, Niall.” 

“It is!” Niall cries.

Zayn snorts beside him, and if Niall heard it, he probably chose to ignore it.

Niall sighs, giving up the subject. He eyes Louis then, blinking tiredly behind his large rimmed glasses. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, still obvious despite the dim light. “Are you heading off?”

“Yeah, just need to chill out a bit though. Sitting on that chair all day is killing my back.” He says, stretching his limbs.

Niall groans. “I still got two hours!” he complains.

Louis reaches to pat Niall on the shoulder, a (pitiful) attempt to comfort him. “It’s okay, mate. You’ll get through this.”

Niall releases a huff in response. He’s such a child sometimes—Most times, rather.

“Are you not going to wait for Harry?” Zayn says out of nowhere. 

Niall turns to him, eyes wide. “Oh yeah. He said he’s going to buy dinner. You should wait for him, Lou.”

At the corner of his eye, he sees Zayn smirk.

 _Great._ Louis resists to roll his eyes. He’s been trying to push Harry out of his mind all day, even gone as far as ignoring his very presence. (Doesn’t really matter if it’s actually the other way around, but.) The last time he even talked to him was their conversation in the car on the way to work earlier—when he told him to shut up. Harry really needs to tend to his anger issues.

“I’m perfectly capable of going home by myself, thank you very much.” He snorts, dangling his keys in emphasis. “And I have food in my flat. I don’t need him to buy me one. He’s not my nan.”

“You don’t know how to drive, Lou.” Niall points out, ignoring the rest of his rant. “And he brought the patrol car with him,”

Yeah. Well.

“I have feet.” Louis says in defense, and maybe he’s too stubborn to admit that driving really makes him anxious. “And unlike Harry, I don’t trip on flat surfaces. I can walk my way home, or get a cab. Whatever. Fuck him.”

He hears Zayn stifle a laugh.

“I wish you two would just get along,” Niall sighs, mindlessly fiddling with the button of his uniform. “I mean, you’re partners. Nobody in this department can ever understand why you two are always coming for each other’s necks _._ ”

“Have you all been gossiping about me behind my back?” Louis raises a brow.

“Everyone in here has eyes, Louis. We don’t need to talk.”

Yeah. Whatever.

“Right.” Louis scoffs, not in the right mood to talk about Harry or anything at all. He really just wants to crawl back to his bed now, something that was cruelly taken away from him earlier. “I’m gonna go. I’m tired. See ‘ya tomorrow.”

He gets up from his seat, gently tapping Zayn’s shoulder and waving goodbye to Niall.

 

* * *

 

Sleep doesn't come easy that night. Louis keeps on turning, rolling, at some point he almost found himself on the floor. The night is cold, and all he could possibly do aside from sinking his entire body in the duvet is stare at the lamp-post outside his window. He stares at the orange light as it passes through the blinds, lighting up his dim room. 

Silence continues to roll on, and the only thing Louis could hear is the ticking of the clock.

Until a knock comes to his door.

He stops breathing, like his heartbeat is suddenly an actual nuisance to his hearing. Louis knows it's there, but he waits for it to come again.

Once. Twice.

He swiftly pulls the duvet off him and runs down the stairs, the collar of his oversized jumper sliding off his left shoulder in the process—exposing his skin to the cold. He stops right in front of the front door, twisting the knob without hesitance.

He lets the door swing open, and he doesn't have the time to react as someone steps in and immediately yanks him inside; And suddenly he finds himself pushed against the door. A pair of lips crashes against his before he could even think. Louis kisses back as roughly, whimpering and moaning all while he flutters his eyes closed.

Louis tries to reach up to tangle his hands in the person's hair, but before he could do—the person has already pulled away, stepping back and eyeing him with an intense look.

"You know you didn’t have to knock, right? You know where the key is.” Louis says as he catches his breath. He really loves rough kisses.

When he receives no response, he frowns. “What?’ He means to make it sound harsh, but all he lets out is a whimper.

Still silence. Gaze just glued on him as the other breathes softly.

Louis pushes himself off the surface, rolling his eyes as he pads towards the kitchen. He needs coffee. Or better yet, tea. Something to distract him with. "If you went here just to scold me for something I didn't know I did then you should just leave, Harry."

"I was calling. You never answer your phone, Lou." Harry grumbles, a crinkle resting between his eyebrows.

He turns to face Harry, the half-made tea already forgotten on the counter. Louis shrugs, his collar exposing more of the skin on his shoulder along with his collarbones. He doesn't mention the way Harry's gaze falls into him. "Forgot to charge it."

"That's your only reason." Harry hisses.

And here he goes again.

It’s Louis turn to frown. "Look, I don't know what's up your bloody ass. You've been a proper dick all day but I'm already here, alright? I didn't go clubbing. Or pulling, or fucking random people on the street. I'm under your fucking watch now,  _mum_ ,what else do you want?" He snaps.

"Honestly surprised you didn't do that two nights in a row," Harry spits back.

Louis blinks, realization hitting him. "Is this what it's all about, again?" He says, slowly, carefully. "Are you fucking jealous, Harry?"

He tried to pull last night, hooked up with a nameless stranger in the club's rest room before he found Harry, seething with anger and demanding him to get in the car. Louis had even repeatedly called him a spoilsport along the way.

Silence rolls on. It's dark in his kitchen, but he can perfectly see the look on Harry's face.

He almost laughs.

"I don't remember agreeing to an exclusive relationship," Louis says icily.

That's all it takes for Harry to look up. His eyes have a different look, but the corners of his mouth are turnled upward. "You're really that condescending. Not everything is about you, Louis."

“Is it, though?”

Harry scoffs, “I just want to make sure you don’t pick up anything and pass it to me.”

"I’m clean.” Louis rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head a little before licking his lips—smirking when he sees Harry's eyes follow the movement. "So if that’s clear enough for you, can we please move on to the reason why you came here in the first place?”

It’s like a switched has been flipped. Harry’s glare melts, then he grins, taking a few tentative steps towards him before finally closing the distance. He puts his arms on either side of Louis' hips, completely trapping him between his body and the counter.

He’s suddenly a complete different person. Louis think he likes him better when he’s not being a twat.

“Been thinking ‘bout you all day,” Harry rasps in his ear and Louis involuntarily shivers at the feeling of his hot breath tickling the skin of his neck.

Louis most definitely prefers this Harry.

“Hm?” Louis bites his lip, looking up through his long lashes. He mindlessly plays with the first button on Harry’s uniform, fiddling with it—teasing. “You were the one being an arsewipe to me all day.”

Harry ignores him and continues to nibble at his earlobe, his hands finding its way inside Louis’ jumper while pushing his leg in between his thighs. “Couldn’t wait to get my hands on you.”

_Fuck._

Louis’ mind starts to go on a daze as he starts rutting his hips against Harry’s thighs. He’s half hard by now and he knows Harry is the same. He’s starting to think that all these fabric in between them are hindrances to his own fucking happiness.

He grits his teeth in annoyance, “Then stop talking and start moving,” he whimpers. It comes out as weak, and he truly is right now.

Harry giggles. “Always so demanding,”

“You can’t speak,” Louis glares, successfully popping the first button of Harry’s shirt. “when you’re not inside me.”

Harry nods, taking a step back only to be stopped by Louis.

He looks at him with pleading eyes.

Harry shakes his head. “As much as I want to bend you over and fuck you in your kitchen right now, I really think that’s unsanitary.”

Louis pouts as Harry starts to drag him upstairs. He’s horny and he wants to get fucked in his kitchen. That’s in his bucket list.

Guess it’ll be checked next time.

 

* * *

 

Louis wakes up alone.

Not that it’s a surprise—it has always been like that anyways. The mattress is already cold beside him, the sheets are tangled to his limbs, his naked skin exposed to the sunlight passing through the blinds of his windows.

He groans in protest, turning his whole body away as it aches in the right places from the previous night. He’s still on duty today, unfortunately.

But he’ll manage.

 

* * *

 

He does not manage.

His whole body is in pain. His ass fucking hurts, he could feel bruises forming in his hips, and he couldn’t walk straight. It would have been fine—probably a normal day at this point but what irks him is the stupid smirk on Harry’s face the moment he sees him limping in the room. He fucking hates Harry. And he also doesn’t want to associate the word ‘fuck’ with Harry anymore.

Which, a lie of course. (He’s got a massive dick, Louis likes it in him.)

So when he’s finally realizing that this is a helpless cause and that he really needs to tend to the sore feeling in his bum, he decides to join Niall and Liam to get himself entertained with their fused idiocy.

Which now he’s regretting, judging with the direction their conversation is going.

“We will not tell anyone,” Niall’s nostrils flare, glancing at Liam who’s obviously more confused than curious at this point. “I swear on my heart, Tommo.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I told you, I’m not.”

Niall snorts, slamming a palm against the table in a not-so-gentle manner. “You’re fucking someone,” he narrows his eyes when Louis fidgets in his seat, wincing slightly. “See? Someone has been IN there.”

Why Niall is so passionate about Louis’ sex life, he doesn’t (want to) know. “It’s none of your business, Nialler. Don’t you have, like, grandma issues to attend to?”

“Come on, Lou!” Niall whines, “I have been monitoring my list. You’re always limping to work every Friday, Monday and Wednesday.”

He has a list.

“You have a list.” Louis deadpans.

“I have a list.” Niall confirms, not batting an eye.

“I don’t understand.” Liam mutters under his breath, horrified at the choice of topic.

“Why the fuck do you have a list?” Louis holds his cuppa in his hand, frozen as he stares at Niall who isn’t even slightly bothered by his own revelation.

“Are you really surprised? We’ve been friends since High School,” Niall explains, like that would make sense why he keeps track on Louis’ sex life. He pushes his glasses as if to make a point. “Of course I’d have a list.”

Sometimes Louis looks back and wishes he hadn’t befriended Niall back then. He’s weird. And he’s about to tell him that when,

“Who’s fucking who?”

Louis snorts as Harry makes his grand entrance, his cap in his hand while he ruffles his curls with his free hand. He pads his way towards the counter, grabbing his own mug in the process.

Niall doesn’t look at him, his gaze just dead set on Louis while Louis glares at Harry. “Someone’s fucking Tommo and he wouldn’t share.”

Harry freezes, turning back to look at Louis straight in the eye. Then slowly, the edge of his lips curls up into a smirk. Louis wants to bleach it off his face. “Oh,” he says, completely turning on his back and facing them. He leans back towards the counter, arms crossed in a way that made him look more egotistical than usual. Louis really hates him.

Louis huffs, “That surprising, Styles?”

Harry shrugs, “How was it?”

In the corner of his eye, Louis sees Liam scratch his head, like all this anal talk has put him in distress.

(Since when has his asshole been everybody’s source of entertainment?)

“Not too bad,” He says casually, adjusting in his seat and ignoring the slight stinging on his skin. “Not too good either.”

“Really?” Harry says, smirk not faltering a bit. “That’s not what I’d assume every time I look at you being unable to walk straight on your feet.”

Louis hates him. He really does. Has he mentioned that? Because right now that’s all he could say as his mind fails to process any good comebacks and they stare down at each other, both refusing to blink.

“See? I’m not the only person who noticed.” Niall says smugly.

“Sure do.” Harry says, eyes still fixed on Louis’.

Both Liam and Niall are watching them now, although Louis doesn’t fail to notice the sudden glint in Niall’s eyes. Louis hopes it’s not what he thinks.

Harry’s about to speak, and Louis is about to staple his mouth—but instead he mentally thanked Zayn when he storms in the room looking god-like and confused, a cigar hanging between his lips.

He needs to remind him more often that smoking isn’t allowed in the office.

 

* * *

 

The night he met Harry Styles was a blur. All he could remember was the long legs clad in tight skinny jeans and the hundred thousands of tattoos inked on his (almost) flawless skin. There was the bounce of his curls that cascaded and ended just before his shoulders and the glow of the emeralds of his irises.

Louis has concluded that he was a fucking God sent from heaven to ruin everyone’s lives.

There was music, loud enough that his ears have started ringing. The lights were dimmed and the place was too crowded, the heat was clinging against Louis’ skin and sweat was starting to form at his forehead. He was dizzy, alcohol running in his system. He was drunk, probably, but  _not_  drunk enough.

Someone had settled beside him, he knew. He could feel his presence from an inch away, and Louis should probably tell them off. 

But his interest peaked when he turned his head, watching as the person stared at him with the same intensity.

“Can I help you?” Louis squinted his eyes.

He had laughed. The one he does when he’s trying to impress (not the ugly cackle that he does when he tells his incomprehensible puns) and Louis was sure he was wanted that night.

“You looked like you needed company.”

Louis sure did. He's very sad and upset and angry and he really needs a distraction. His now-former partner had just filed a  resignation to  _pursue his dreams_  and leave him rotting. The daft wanted to be a lawyer, so he took off and just, yeah. It made Louis upset, not only because he was abandoned by a long-time friend but because he was able to do what Louis wanted to do but can’t –  _pursue_   _his_   _god_   _damn_   _dreams_. Great. Cheesy. He had almost laughed when he thought about it the first time. But still. He was really about to go through another life crisis in front of a possible pull.

“Drink?” He asked, a smirk playing on his lips as a hint of dimples popped out on his cheeks. Louis concluded that he was supremely attractive. Like supremely. He was a God. So Louis decided he wanted him too.

The night had progressed from there, a few minutes of chit-chats and a few not-so-subtle touches from each other, they found themselves stumbling towards the restroom.

And a lot has happened.

The next thing Louis knew, he woke up in his own room; stark naked with a stranger curled up next to him. He may or may not have rudely told the stranger to fuck off right then and there.

Which he now regrets because apparently, he wasn’t a stranger after all.

Because a few weeks later, the same stranger walked in on  _his_ stationduring his work, the same smirk plastered on his face as he introduced himself as Harry Styles.

Which okay.

He wished it had ended there.

But _Harry_ was an insistent arsehole. He was cheeky, mischievous even and couldn’t take a hint as Louis continuously turned him down.

He was naturally charming, and he was annoying at times (still is) but he was a God and Louis is just a weak man.

A weak man who was being cornered against every room by an extremely attractive man.

And who was he to deny? 

So it happened. It started. They fucked each other’s brains out one night, then the night after that, then another until it became a routine that Harry would come over and get both of them off.

The rational part of Louis’ mind thinks this would really be a  _bad idea._ You don’t fuck your co-worker or a  _friend_  (debatable, acquaintance is a better word). But the irrational part tells him that what the others don’t know—wouldn’t hurt them anyway.

So he lets it be.

He stays up late the next night. It was past midnight, Niall was already on his way home and both Liam and Zayn have disappeared long ago. The police station was quiet, the other officers minding their own businesses in their own respective tables. 

Louis has just finished patrolling with Harry, bringing back two high schoolers who vandalized a private property with amazing drawings of dicks.

He’s not one to judge, though. Louis appreciates all kinds of arts, even if it’s an ugly representation of the human genitals.

He peacefully types out his report on his computer, getting mildly distracted once in a while whenever Harry comes in for no reason. (He rummages through his drawer and stares at the wall like an idiot, like what the fuck even)

“You could finish that tomorrow, you know.” Harry says at some point, pausing on whatever he was doing in his phone to stare at Louis.

Louis doesn’t look up, barely giving him attention. “When I could finish it today?” He mumbles, glaring at his keyboard when the backspace key doesn’t work.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.” Louis confirms.

“Then why don’t you rest?” Harry says again, like Louis gave him permission to bother him.

“If I can finish it today, then I’ll finish it today.” He responds firmly. See, he’s not exactly in the mood to argue with anyone tonight. He’s knackered. “Why are you still here anyway?”

Harry shrugs. “Chief asked me to do something.”

“Then do it instead of bothering me.”

There’s a beat of silence after that. The harsh presses of his keyboard fills the quietness as Louis starts to whisper the next few words he types.

“Do you want tea?” Harry asks out of the blue.

Louis was about to tell him off, but he realizes he actually wants tea but doesn’t want to stand up and make his own, so. He nods. “Yeah. There’s Yorkshire in the cupboard. No milk.”

He hears Harry leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s minutes later when Harry comes back, carrying a cup in each hand. Louis watches him as he slowly puts down Louis’ cup (His is white with a big smiley face imprinted in front, the eyes drawn with huge X’s. It’s cute) on top of his desk.

“Thanks,” he mutters, glancing up for a mere second before putting his focus back on his screen.

Harry doesn’t reply, but Louis doesn’t fail to notice the small smile in his face.

Weird.

 

* * *

 

Louis didn’t invite Niall. He  _doesn’t_ remember texting him and telling him that ‘ _hey you can chill out in me flat and ate all my crisps tonight’_. He doesn’t fucking remember inviting him over through text or personally, and yet here he is. 

He has a huge bag with him filled with junk foods and is that... beer?  _He probably did invite Niall._

“Why are you here?” Is the first thing he asks. Louis honestly contemplated kicking him out of the apartment and keeping the groceries, but he’s the best friend a person could ask for so he tries to tolerate Niall’s presence for a few more minutes.

“Grandma kicked me out of the house,” Niall says casually, pulling out the rest of the food from the bag. He smiles brightly then, “So I’m staying here while I find a place to stay.” 

Niall sits up, eyes wide. Like actually wide. Louis only then realizes he’s trying to give him the puppy eyes. “Do you mind?”

Louis’ mind goes blank. He couldn’t process this much information all at once because (1) He never knew Niall still lived with his grandma despite being 24 and (2) Apparently Niall is now his flatmate and he has to deal with him for days or weeks until he finds a place to stay.

“What?” he asks quickly, following Niall who’s already laying flat across his couch. “What do you mean you’re staying here?”

Niall glances at him, “It’s just for a few days. Grandma got real pissed at me last night so she kicked me out, wouldn’t let me get my stuffs too.” he shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. (It’s early morning, what the hell) “S’okay, though. Been wanting to move out for a while now.”

“So you decided to crash in my flat.” Louis deadpans.

He looks like a dead goldfish instead, honestly.

Louis rolls his eyes; like he has a choice to kick Niall out and leave him homeless anyway. He’s not that bad. “Whatever. You take the couch.”

Niall grins, “Yihoo!

 

* * *

 

It’s Monday again. 

Like, the weekend really went that fast.

Louis feels like a living dead, he probably has huge bags underneath his eyes right now. Niall has been living with him for only two days and he’s already managed to cause massive destruction not only in Louis’ flat but also in Louis’ sleeping schedule.

He’s weak, and he could still hear Niall’s loud snores from the living room—it’s that loud and powerful that it could wake up the whole neighborhood.

He literally had spent two whole nights doing anything but productive sitting in his couch, playing FIFA and stuffing his mouth with whatever Niall cooks just because ‘ _I like your kitchen.’_  (“I swear this one’s godly, it’s my own recipe.” “Those are scrambled eggs, Niall.” “With cheese.”)

In conclusion, Niall is a destructive flat-mate. No wonder his grandma had kicked him out.

So when he gets to the Police station, it was a bit late. The tube was filled and Louis couldn’t sneak properly with Niall tailing behind and telling him wondrous stories about his life—which, again, Louis doesn’t give a single fuck about.

He couldn’t even risk asking Harry to pick him up, he hasn’t answered his texts since Friday.

“Hey,” He greets as soon as he steps inside, spotting Zayn in the front desk. He nods at Niall who pats him at the back before disappearing around the corner.

“Hey,” Zayn replies simply.

“You realize Simon would kill you for that, right?” He asks, folding his arms on top of the desk and watches as Zayn starts making an outline of an eye over a page on the log book.

Louis looks closely. The eye looks familiar, along with the bushy brows on top of it, but his braincells are tired. He pays it no attention.

“His fault for assigning me here.” Zayn shrugs.

Louis laughs.

“Good morning!” Liam greets from across the room.

“Morning, Li.” Louis says.

“Morning.” Zayn says, smirking and winking at Liam unabashedly.

Liam blushes. Like he actually blushes, his cheeks are frustratingly pink in a mere second. What the actual fuck.

Louis blinks, watching as Liam walks past them. He turns to Zayn, eyes squinted in suspicion. “You’re not telling me something.”

Zayn shrugs, “You and me, both.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? “

Zayn shuts the book harshly, startling Louis. He looks up at him, his eyes boring into his. “Aside from the fact that you’re screwing Harry, what else are you not telling me?”

Louis’ eyes widen, his eyeballs nearly popping out of its sockets. Zayn merely stares at him, void of any emotion. He wants to ask how he knows, or if somebody else knows but. “I’m not the one doing the screwing.”

He needs to clear that out first.

Zayn scoffs, rolling his eyes. The corners of his lips threatening a smile, “So you’re not denying it, then?”

Louis sighs. “Look, I really didn’t mean to  _not_  tell you,” he tries to explain, watching as Zayn raises a brow. “But I really—Okay. Fine. We don’t want anyone to know—It’s just—it’s just casual. The thing going on between Harry and I.”

“Casual?”

“Yes.”

Zayn stares at him, eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones as he blinks at him with an obvious nonchalance. He’s judging, Louis could tell. “Alright.” He stares at him and  _shrugs._ He fucking shrugs and continues with his day like a fucking twat.

“Alright?” Louis blinks.

“Alright.” Zayn confirms.

“That’s it?”

Zayn raises a brow, “What do you want me to say?”

Louis shrugs. He doesn’t know what he wants to hear either.

Zayn sighs. “Look, I’m not going to lecture you with the cliché, alright? But you do know how things usually end up with this ‘casual’ thing, right?”

Louis blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno what I want to say, honestly.” Zayn chuckles, eyes glued on his artwork. “But I think you get the message. You’re not exactly that good in separating casual sex and feelings."

Louis’ eyes widen. Is he really implying that Louis might end up falling in love with Harry or some sort? He has to laugh. He needs to fucking laugh. Sure, he’s had a history of dating supposed-to-be-one-night-stands but Harry isn’t just it. He’s attractive, yes, but apart from that he’s also annoying and has a superiority complex that he really needs to start addressing. (He really just wants the hate and angry sex, it’s pretty hot)

He knows Zayn is just looking out for him. But that assumption is just too stupid. “Look, it’s alright. We’re both consenting adults who agreed that this is just casual, nothing more.”

Zayn stares at him for a few seconds, eyes searching for god knows what. Then he shrugs, “Fine.”

Neither of them talked after that. Louis’ thoughts clouded with “what if’s” as he leaves the front desk, realizing too late that he forgot to ask Zayn about what’s going on with him and Liam.                                                                      

That bastard.

 

* * *

 

Patrolling daily with Harry is on the top of Louis’  **Why this job isn’t for me** list. They would often spend the whole day driving around town and Louis has to always pretend he’s not staring at Harry while he’s driving because it’s actually really hot how focused he is and how his elbow rests on the open window while he gently plays with his bottom lip with his fingers; pinching it gently and biting it till it’s red.

It’s really distracting and Louis can’t work properly. Not that he’s actually doing some work or would accomplish anything at all though, but still. He often contemplates on arresting him for being a complete disturbance to his career. Then maybe he could handcuff him in his bed and just ride him instead of riding this rusty old patrol car.

So anyway, releasing all the sexual frustrations and mostly anger over Harry’s existence aside—comes second the requirement of greeting familiar and unfamiliar faces they’d come across. Louis isn’t a fan of people. He hates human race. He hates this job.

But contrary to that; Harry is actually good at it. He doesn’t have a problem making friends or like, talking to different people and asking them to fuck off or tell them they violated a rule or whatsoever while Louis just stands there like an idiot watching him do  _their_ jobs. And like okay.

Louis should really give up this job.

Because he’s bored now. Like  _right_   _now_.

And horny. 

The engine stopped out of nowhere while they were on their last drive through town, the ignition or whatever mechanics call it doesn’t power up and although it was slightly entertaining to watch Harry get frustrated while he continuously turn the key over and over, Louis just decided to stand aside and let him do the work. Not that he’s lazy though – although that could probably a reason too – he hardly knows how to turn a car engine on so he wouldn’t really be much of a help.

So he sits there at the side of the road, pulling his phone out of his pocket and entertains himself with the various games he downloaded earlier. Not that it’s much of a fun to be honest, he could just sit here and watch Harry do whatever the fuck he’s doing and just get himself worked up with how hot he looks right now.

His navy blue uniform is starting to dampen at the back, his hair being held back by his sunglasses while his brows are hunched down into a frown as he inspects the interior of the hood. Is that what it’s called? Louis doesn’t know.

But that’s not exactly an option, is it? Louis might find Harry attractive and it’s most probably mutual judging with the way Harry eye fucks him sometimes when he thinks Louis isn’t paying attention – but it’s a common knowledge that he also hates his guts and his ego and he’s not about to feed that by letting him know that Louis is half hard in his slacks by just looking at Harry trying and failing to fix an old rusty car. Nope. 

(God, how hot would it be if he gets fucked on the hood of the car right now? Or the backseat? Even the trunk is an option but.)

He continues tapping on his phone, ignoring the unholy thoughts that continue to intrude his mind. It’s been almost a week since he’s gotten laid, what with Niall suddenly inviting himself to stay over for a few days and run away from his grandma issues. It’s only been him and his hands against the world.

“I need a hand.” He hears Harry’s say, Louis doesn’t move for a few seconds though – tapping furiously on his phone because  _I’m about to beat Liam’s high score. The car can wait, Harry._

He keeps on tapping, because he’s almost there. Three points to go and he’s officially at the top score. Zayn will be number two and he will be number one. 

He gets too engrossed on his little game that he doesn’t notice the long never ending miles of limbs standing before him, and before he knows it, his phone is snatched from his fingers because _Harry fucking Styles needs a hand._

“What the fuck?!” Louis exclaims, jumping on his feet and reaching for his phone which is being held up too high by Harry’s long arm at the moment. He looks like an idiot, standing on tiptoes. 

He gives up eventually, glaring at Harry with his best  _I am upset be really scared_ face in which Harry responds with his  _You’re not really scary, you know that right?_  face. “What the fuck do you want?” he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Push the car.” Harry demands, using his height to his advantage to intimidate Louis. He’s practically hovering at him right now and it’s unfair.

“No.’ He says flatly, not budging and refusing to stand down.

“No?” Harry repeats, raising a brow. 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Between the two of us, you’re bigger. You push the car.”

“Do you know how to drive?” He asks.

“No.”

“Do you know how to start the engine?”

Louis doesn’t see the point of this interrogation. ‘No.”

"Do you know what you're supposed to do, at least?"

"No.” Louis deflates.

Harry smirks. “Then it’s settled.  _You_  push the car.”

Louis glares at him. It’s not that he has nothing left to say or he can’t make a proper comeback just because Harry has a point, that’s not it – but because. Just because he can. “At least give me my phone back,” he says instead, watching as Harry slides through the driver’s seat, giving him one last triumphant smile before:

“After.”

And Louis’ nostrils are probably flaring at this moment. He really hates Harry. He fucking hates him so much because he always manages to get everything his way with Louis and he’s annoyingly hot when he’s demanding Louis what to do and that’s just not fair.

Fuck Harry. Really. And Fuck Zayn for ever thinking he could like this dickhead. Because it’s not happening –  _Never_  happening.

 

Like ever.

 


End file.
